


halcyon

by absopositivelutely



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Family Angst, Post-Reynolds Pamphlet, how i imagined the hamiltons dealt with the pamphlet, smol angry mama’s boy philip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absopositivelutely/pseuds/absopositivelutely
Summary: halcyon (adj.)1. denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.after the pamphlet, philip's life is anything but that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i've just joined ao3, so i'm kinda new to everything and don't really know what i'm doing so uh pls don't hate me thanks :)

"Mama, what's wrong?" Philip repeats for maybe the fifth time that day. Eliza just shakes her head again, as she has for the past four times. Philip isn't taking that for an answer again, though, and he puts a hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze steadily. She wonders briefly when he got so tall.    
  
"Mama, please," Philip presses. "Something's wrong."   
  
"Oh, Philip," she whispers, pulling him into a hug. She's afraid that this will break him, as it so nearly has done to her. Her son, her first son, who's fifteen and almost as tall as Alex and would never hurt a soul, who, as Alex often said, was too good for this world.   
  
There's a loud crash from one of his sibling's rooms, and they both instinctively look over, Philip beginning to move towards the door and stopping when he hears laughter and Angie's voice restoring order to his brothers. He turns back to Eliza, and her small smile quickly falls as she remembers what he's asking about.    
  
"Mama..."   
  
"It's your father," she blurts out, looking down, unable to meet his gaze. "Today, in the newspaper..."   
  
She shakes her head, swallowing the lump in her throat and walking over to the table to give the newspaper to Philip. "Don't...don't read all of it. Please."   
  
He takes it, his expression confused as he begins to read, and Eliza can feel her heart breaking all over again when she sees it register on his face. His eyes widen, shining with tears, and he closes the paper after the first two pages, throwing his arms around Eliza in a fierce hug. "He...why? How could he?! Did he just forget about us?! You, the others, Will—he was just born this month! Mama, I—"   
  
"Philip, no," she murmurs. "Not now. Please don't fight him now."   
  
"I know," he replies quickly. "I know, I won't. Not now."   
  
"No. Promise me you won't, ever. I don't want you to fight with him," Eliza pleads. She knows what she's going to do. She knows that she isn't going to forgive Alexander so easily. It isn't going to be like all the times she's protested about him going away for months. Because this isn't enough anymore. But even if she isn't letting this go, she doesn't want Philip fighting with Alex, because they're still father and son, and she can't stand for Philip to lose his father, not like Alex did.    
  
"What do we tell the others?" Philip asks, glancing back at the room where he can hear his brothers' excited cheers at something Angie said. The door opens, and she steps out of the room, throwing Philip and Eliza a smile.    
  
"Jamie and John want a toy," she explains. "Xander's watching Will. They'll be fine, I'll be quick."   
  
She disappears into the room across the hall and returns back to the room with the rest of her siblings in less than a minute, but to Philip it feels like forever, waiting for her to be out of earshot before turning back to Eliza.    
  
"What do we tell them?" he repeats, his eyes filled with worry.    
  
"I...I don't really know, Philip," Eliza replies. She feels absolutely helpless, like she's drowning, and for once in her life, she doesn't have anyone to lean on. Peggy's gone. Angelica's across the ocean. And Alex... "Just...tell Angie. You can tell her everything. Xander and Jamie and John...don't tell them everything, but they have to know some of it. Don't make it overwhelming."   
  
Philip nods, his eyes drifting over to the clock. It's almost dinner time, meaning his father would be coming home soon. Or at least, he should be coming home soon. He used to get back before dinner, but increasingly, he's been arriving in the middle of the meal. Philip considers this before shaking his head, sickened by the possibilities. Eliza follows his gaze before looking back down at the ground, coming to the same conclusion as Philip.    
  
"Don't...don't think about it," she says softly. She's managed to keep surprisingly calm through this, but in saying that to Philip, she of course continues thinking about it, and she takes a shuddering breath to try and compose herself. Instead, she finds tears dripping onto the paper on the table, and Philip's arms wrapped around her. Somehow, it's him comforting her, though she knows it should be the opposite.    
  
"It'll be okay, Mama, we'll figure it out," Philip reassures her, rubbing his hand on her back to calm her. It doesn't help that his voice is so similar to Alex's, his shoulder at just about the same height as Alex's when he hugged her, and it doesn't help that Alex used to do the same thing, he used to rub her back when she was scared or stressed or worried, and she lets out another sob into Philip's shirt, wondering where she went wrong, where Alexander went wrong, where everything had changed. And even as Philip tells her that they'll be okay, she can feel his tears dampening her shoulder.    
  
"We're going to figure it out," Philip repeats, before pulling away and swiping quickly at his eyes. "Do you want me to go get them for dinner?"   
  
"Go ahead," Eliza says, wiping at her tears. "Don't let them see you sad."   
  
"I know," he replies, making his way to his siblings. He plasters a smile on his face and throws the door open. "Who's ready for dinner?"   
  
Angie sighs wearily, standing up and making her way over to him. "About time you got here. I don't know how you manage to deal with all of them."   
  
"Hey! I'm good," Xander protests. Philip laughs, ruffling his brother's hair. The boy yelps and twists away from him.    
  
"Come on, you don't want the food to get cold, do you?" Philip asks. Xander's eyes widen in mock horror, and he bolts for the door. Jamie grins and races after him, calling, "Bet I can beat you to the table!"   
  
"No way!" Xander's voice echoes from down the hall. John giggles and takes off after his brothers. Angie sighs again, picking up Will and shaking her head.    
  
"Boys," she grumbles. "Why'd you leave me with them so long? What were you even talking to Mama about?"   
  
Philip hesitates, his cheerful facade cracking slightly. Angie notices, stepping closer to him and looking up at him, meeting his gaze. "Philip, tell me."   
  
"Later," he whispers, quickly blinking away his tears. "I need to tell all of you. Before bedtime, I promise."   
  
Angie looks like she's about to complain, but she catches Philip's broken expression and nods. "Okay."   
  
Philip's quiet throughout dinner, letting his siblings carry on the conversation as he sneaks glances at the clock and at the door, as if it can bring his father home. But after they've finished eating, and Alex still isn't home, the others can tell that something's wrong.    
  
"Where's Papa?" Xander finally asks, and Philip sees his mother's face fall briefly before she pieces her calm expression back together.    
  
"I...I don't know. Maybe he's at work," Eliza offers.    
  
"Oh. Okay," Xander shrugs it off. Philip quickly changes the subject, standing up and ushering his siblings to their rooms.    
  
"It's bedtime," Philip announces. "All of you, get into bed." They all erupt into protests, begging for just a few more minutes, but after promises of story time, they eagerly take off down the hall. Angie follows them, looking back at Philip and raising an eyebrow questioningly. He nods, and she turns and continues down the hall, apparently satisfied with his promise. Philip hugs his mother with an arm, his eyes darting to the door.    
  
"I'll be okay, Philip," she reassures him, kissing her son's forehead. "Take care of your siblings."   
  
He pushes open the door to his and Angie's shared room, seeing his sister sitting on her bed waiting for him. "Well?"   
  
He sighs, taking a seat next to her. "I actually need your help. I'm going to tell you everything, and then we have to figure out what to tell the others. It affects all of us. And-"   
  
"Just tell me," she pleads. "I don't care how bad it is. Tell me, and then we'll figure things out."   
  
Philip takes a deep breath, remaining silent for a few seconds as he struggles with what to say. Finally, he just says, "Papa cheated on Mama."   
  
"What?" Angie whispers, her eyes widening. He nods once.    
  
"He wrote a pamphlet. 95 pages, describing the affair, which is what he's been spending his money on, and he hasn't been using the government's money like they've been accusing him of. When we were upstate with Aunt Angelica, he was with this girl called Maria Reynolds."   
  
"He...he cheated on Mama?" Angie repeats, her voice cracking. Philip hugs her tightly, just as he'd done to Eliza. He gets the sense that he'll be giving a lot of hugs tonight.    
  
"I don't know why either," Philip whispers, closing his eyes and resting his head on his sister's shoulder. "But we have to tell the others at some point, and I don't know how."     
  
"Not now," Angie says hurriedly. "Philip, we can't let them see us cry, you know that, right?"   
  
He nods. "Yeah, I know. Not now. I don't want to do it now. I really don't want to do it ever."   
  
Angie barks out a bitter laugh, wiping at her tears. "Yeah, I don't think anyone would want to do it. Come on, let's go put them to bed."   
  
She heads over to the door connecting their shared room to their brothers' room. "You better all be in bed," she calls. She counts to five, waiting for their giggles and the patter of feet and the rustling of blankets to subside before opening the door.    
  
Philip comes in to tell the younger boys a story, continuing the one from the night before. The story puts them to sleep easily, and Philip and Angie return to their room quietly. They remain silent as they crawl into their beds, Philip leaning over to blow the candle out. He can sense that Angie's overwhelmed by what he told her, hearing soft sniffles from her direction, and he rolls over to face her bed.    
  
"Ange? We're gonna be okay," he whispers reassuringly. He can't see her in the dark, but he can hear her grateful smile when she replies.    
  
"Love you, Philip."   
  
"You know I'm your favorite," he says in an attempt to lighten the mood, smiling at Angie's faint laugh. "Love you too."   
  
He can hear when she falls asleep, her breaths evening out and her quiet sobs subsiding. But even though he'd just been comforting his sister, he feels even more unsure about what's going to happen to them. And as far as he knows, his father hasn't come home yet. He really, really doesn't want to think of where he could be.    
  
He hears a door creaking open, and he sits upright, listening intently. His father's voice is quiet, and Philip stands up, moving closer to the door and pressing an ear to the keyhole in an attempt to hear him better.    
  
"Eliza." His voice is soft, pleading, lacking his usual confidence.    
  
"Alexander." Her voice is hard, angry, lacking her usual gentleness.    
  
Will begins to cry, maybe unnerved by the difference in his parents' behavior. Philip can hear his mother whispering reassurances to his youngest brother, while Alexander remains uncharacteristically silent, waiting for Will to quiet down before he speaks up.    
  
"Eliza, please listen-"   
  
"That's what I've been telling you to do for years," she responds, her voice cracking. "I told you not to leave, Alexander, I asked you if I could be enough for you, but no, you always had to go get the job done, you never even tried to stay!"   
  
"Because I had to work!" he protests. Philip squeezes his eyes shut as he trembles with repressed sobs. He never would've imagined his parents arguing, but here they were, and all he wants to do is cry. But he can't. Not now.    
  
"And yet you had enough time to be with her in between your work! You published the letters she wrote you, you told the whole world how you brought this girl into our bed, and you claim to have needed a break, but you know that you could've had one upstate! Alexander, now everyone knows that no one is to blame but yourself!"   
  
Will lets out a wail, and when the argument pauses for Eliza to calm him down, Philip hears Angie stirring, and he makes his way over to her quickly, lighting the candle and sitting down next to her bed.    
  
"Papa's home?" she whispers. Philip nods, pressing a finger to his lips and beckoning her over to the door. He hears the door across the hall closing, and he assumes that Eliza has put Will to bed.    
  
"Eliza, please, hear me out-"   
  
"You don't understand!" Eliza cuts him off furiously. "I saved every letter you wrote me, Alexander. From the moment I read them, I knew you were mine."   
  
She's silent for a long moment, Alexander not speaking. Philip hears his mother choking back a sob, and Angie buries her head in his chest, hugging him tightly. "I'm scared," she murmurs. Philip doesn't know how to reassure her.    
  
"You said you were mine," Eliza whispers brokenly, and Philip can hear the tears and the shakiness in her voice. "I thought you were mine."   
  
"Eliza, please," Alexander says quietly. Philip can't bring himself to listen to his father's pleads for forgiveness, and he turns away, making his way to his siblings' adjoining room. Angie grabs his hand, following him over. He opens the door slightly, peering through the crack. Xander's sitting up in bed, his eyes wide, tear tracks trailing down his cheeks. Jamie and John are clinging to him, both shaking with sobs, Xander's hand rubbing their backs comfortingly.    
  
"It's okay," Philip whispers, crossing the room quickly and sitting down on Xander's bed, Angie following suit. John throws himself into Philip's arms, Jamie crawling into Angie's lap. Xander settles down between his two oldest siblings, Angie wrapping an arm around him while he leans his head on Philip's shoulder. "Mama and Papa are fighting because of something Papa did," Philip explains softly. "He left her to go do something else that he thought was important, but really wasn't as important as Mama. It's going to be okay, though. I'm here."   
  
"I don't like Mama and Papa fighting," John sniffles. Philip nods, wiping away his brother's tears with his thumb.    
  
"Me neither," Philip replies. His other siblings stay silent, Eliza's tearful voice echoing down the hallway and cutting off Alexander's quiet pleads. They sit there for he doesn't know how long, Philip hugging his siblings close to him and worrying, about how his mother is doing, how his father could've done this, what they'll do now, what his father will do now, what will happen to them, and his breathing is quick and fast and he feels like he's struggling to stay afloat and he doesn't know what to do—   
  
"Philip," Angie murmurs, her hand on Xander's back reaching out to pat Philip's shoulder. "You don't have to be the strong one all the time."   
  
John looks up at him and throws his arms around Philip's neck, nuzzling his head into Philip's shoulder. Philip buries his face in John's soft locks of hair and lets himself cry for the first time today, fully cry, not holding back his tears. Jamie squeezes onto Philip's lap next to John, and Xander and Angie sit on either side of Philip, each wrapping an arm around his shoulders. They all slowly drift off to sleep, slumped against the wall behind the bed, and that's how Eliza finds them when she enters the room, Will in her arms. And she manages to crack a small smile through the tears blurring her vision, because maybe they'll be okay.    



	2. Chapter 2

The morning sunlight streams in through the windows, illuminating the wall a flaming orange as the sun rises. Philip gently untangles himself from the pile of his siblings, padding quietly to the door and easing it open just enough for him to slip out. The door to his parents' room is closed, and he doesn't hear Will's cries. He seems to be the first one awake.    
  
He shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The newspaper lies limply on the table, and though he doesn't want to, it seems to draw him in, pulling him closer and closer until he's standing by the table. He picks up the paper, staring at the elegant script of the title.    
  
_ The Reynolds Pamphlet.  _ _   
_ _   
_ A door creaks open from somewhere in the house, and he looks back to see his father emerging from his study. He puts the paper down slowly, turning fully to face Alexander.    
  
"Philip," Alex whispers. His eyes are bloodshot, dark bags under them, his face pale. He looks exhausted, and Philip's first instinct is to give him a hug. He holds himself back from that.    
  
"...hi," Philip offers lamely. He doesn't really know what to say. He wants to scream, wants to ask why his father could do what he did, but Alexander just looks so tired, and he can't bring himself to be angry at the empty shell of a man.    
  
"Please," Alexander begs hoarsely, moving closer to Philip. His gaze darts to the paper on the table, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head as if to get rid of the memories. And Philip's frozen. He has no idea what to do.    
  
"Philip, please understand," Alexander pleads, resting a hand on his son's shoulder and looking at him. "I had to do this."   
  
At that, Philip's eyes widen, and he pulls away from his father, scowling even as his eyes fill with tears. "You  _ had _ to do this? You  _ had _ to leave Mama for this other girl? Don't we exist too? How could you just do this when you had a wife and six children waiting for you at home? Did you just forget about us? Do we just not matter to you?!"   
  
His voice cracks on his last question, and he notices that he's crying, hot tears coursing down his cheeks. He swipes furiously at them, glaring directly at his father. And he realizes his father's crying too, bitter tears streaming down the older man's face. Alexander seems to curl in on himself, shaking with sobs as he sinks to the floor. Philip freezes again. Is this what he wanted?   
  
"Papa..." Philip whispers, his voice small and unsure. Alexander's head snaps up upon hearing Philip, because he could've sworn that Philip was five again, approaching him after him and Eliza had just had a particularly harsh fight because Alex was leaving yet again.    
  
_ "Papa, will you and Mama be okay?" Philip asks timidly, crawling into Alex's lap and looking up at his father with big brown eyes, his cheeks splattered with freckles, his brow creased worriedly.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Of course we will," Alex reassures the boy easily. "We'll be fine, it's just that Mama and I don't always agree. But when you love someone, Pip, they become your whole world. Nothing can tear you apart from them." _ _   
_   
Alexander regards his son, who's so much taller and so much older and so different from the five-year-old who'd climbed on his lap looking for comfort, he's long outgrown the nickname Pip and long outgrown Alex's lap, but he still has the same big brown eyes and cheeks splattered with freckles and brow creased in worry and Alexander's heart hurts so, so much, because his son is a different boy now and this problem is so much more and he doesn't know if he can make things better as easily as he used to be able to.    
  
"Please understand what I'm trying to do," Alexander offers weakly. "That's all I have to say."   
  
Philip's expression is torn, his hand reaching out to his father but stopping a few inches from him. He's trembling, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stop his tears. "I...I'm sorry," Philip breathes out, lowering his hand and turning away from Alexander. "I don't understand. I  __ can't understand."   
  
He returns to his siblings' room, finding Angie sitting up and staring out the window. She turns at his entrance, giving him a tiny smile before looking back outside. He joins her on the empty bed that she's sitting cross-legged on, the rest of his siblings still piled on Xander's bed, sleeping peacefully.    
  
"Hey," he murmurs, meeting her gaze. She reaches a hand out to touch his cheek where a stray tear has landed, wiping it away.    
  
"What happened?" she asks quietly, tilting her head at him questioningly.    
  
Philip can feel his throat closing up at the thought of his father, and he swallows hard before speaking. "Papa's downstairs. He slept in his office, I think."   
  
"You said things to him, didn't you," Angie sighs. Philip nods slowly, and Angie can almost see the tension building in him, like a rubber band about to snap. Before he can say something, she puts a hand on his shoulder, looking seriously at him. “Be careful. Do you really want to fight with him?”

 

“Ange, what else can I do? Fighting is all he ever does anyway!” Philip responds, giving his sister a look of disbelief. 

 

She doesn't meet his angry eyes; instead, her gaze drifts over to where the rest of their siblings are still sleeping. “Philip, shh. They're still sleeping.”

 

He shakes his head, standing up and heading for the door connecting his younger siblings’ room to his and Angie’s room. “I’ll just...I’ll go out for a walk or something. I can't be here right now. Tell Mama I’m fine. I'll be back soon.”

 

Once he's in his own room, he crosses over to the window, pushing it open and clambering out into the branches of the tree growing next to the side of the house. He's done this ever since he can remember, sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to meet up with Theo Burr, ever since they met at a ball where they spent the night sitting in a corner, laughing at the adults and their fancy manners. He misses when that's all they had to talk about, before life hit them hard with anger and loss and sadness. 

 

He pulls himself up onto the highest branches and reaches over to the roof, stepping onto the small area of flat surface. The pile of pebbles that he'd brought up there a few years ago is still there, if only slightly depleted, and he picks one up, aiming for the window of the house behind his. With a flick of his wrist, the pebble bounces off the glass, and less than a minute later, the window swings open and his best friend climbs out. 

 

When she makes her way onto his roof, she immediately tackles Philip with a fierce hug. “Pip,” she gasps. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he replies breathlessly, taking a step back to steady himself from the force of Theo crashing into him. She notices, cracking a small smile. He returns it, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing his eyes shut tightly, burying his face in her dark brown locks tumbling down her shoulders. 

 

“Thanks for coming,” he murmurs when he pulls away, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of her hair behind her ear. “Did I wake you up?”

 

“Don't worry about that,” she answers, quickly brushing off his concerns. “How are you doing? How are the others? Is everyone okay?”

 

“We’re...managing,” Philip finally says, after a long silence. “Papa came home late last night. He...he had a big fight with Mama. The others woke up, they were all crying when Angie and I came in. And I saw him this morning, and, um, I said some things that I kind of regret, but he also said some things that I just can't believe he actually said…”

 

“Pip…” she whispers, resting a hand on his cheek. “Look, I get why you said whatever you said. I probably would say the same thing in your place. But before the doctors diagnosed Mama, I was fighting with her. Then she came home and told us that she was sick. Just...think about that, okay?”

 

He lets out a long breath, sitting down and lowering his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. Theo sits next to him, draping an arm across his back and leaning her head on his shoulder. He looks over at her and gives her a weak smile. 

 

“Thanks, Theo. I...I should probably get going.”

 

She nods. “Yeah, me too. And Pip?”

 

He looks back at her from where he's standing at the edge of the roof, reaching for the tree. “Yeah?”

 

“I'm here whenever you need me.”

 

He nods, flashing a grin and murmuring another  _ thanks _ before ducking into the tree and disappearing back into the house. Angie’s waiting in their room when he gets back, and she raises an eyebrow at him. He offers her a sheepish smile. 

 

“Didn't Mama ban you from climbing that tree?”

 

He shrugs. “Ange, please. I've been climbing up there since we moved here. And I think this is the least of our worries right now.”

 

She sighs, shaking her head before getting up from her bed and walking over to their siblings’ room. “They're looking for you. They want to know what we’re going to do now.”

 

“But what if I don't know what to do?”

 

She gives him a sad smile before stepping into the other room and closing the door behind her. “Philip, none of us do.”

 

He really has no idea what they should do. Or what they  _ can  _ do.

 

They're all subdued at breakfast, all six of them eating silently and glancing at each other around the table. Their father’s office door is just out of sight of them, and Philip can't help but look back every now and then. Angie nudges him, and he sighs, focusing his gaze on the ground. There's movement and footsteps from the hall, and despite Angie’s eye roll, Philip turns back around, a mix of tension and hope in his expression. His shoulders slump when he realizes it's just Eliza with Will. 

 

“Are you alright?” she asks them softly, and is met with nods and quiet, uncertain murmurs. Philip lets out a long, heavy breath, and when Eliza looks at him, he can tell that she knows exactly what happened. She doesn’t say anything more until they’ve finished eating and the others have returned to their room, Angie taking Will from their mother and looking back at Philip over her shoulder before leaving the room.

 

“You can’t, Philip, please,” Eliza whispers, moving to stand behind him and playing mindlessly with his loose strands of hair. “I told you, I don’t want you to lose him.”

 

“And how is that fair, when  _ you’ve _ lost him?” Philip demands, twisting to look at her before his shoulders slump and he puts his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I...it’s just that, well, I looked up to him so much, you know. So do the others, like Xander, especially him, he was so proud to have Papa’s name. And now everyone’s going to look down on it.”

 

“People will forget,” Eliza responds. “They always forget. You think they won’t, but this will pass.”

 

“Okay, well, let’s say they do forget. But  _ we  _ won’t forget. You can’t tell me that you’re actually going to forgive him, are you?” Philip asks, lifting his head to regard his mother, only to be met with silence as she avoids his gaze. 

 

“How?” Philip breathes, almost in wonder. “How can you just, so easily, just think that it’ll be okay?”

 

“Not  _ that  _ easily,” she amends. “I'm still hurt, we all are. But he's still my husband, and he’s still your father, and whatever we do can't change that, so would you rather live forever with that brokenness, or would you try to fix things?”

 

“You  _ can  _ change it,” Philip counters. “You could divorce him, couldn't you? Any lawyer would be perfectly happy to help you, I'm sure.” He mutters the last part viciously, like he's scorning whoever would defend Alexander. 

 

“Philip, this isn't you,” Eliza pleads. “Do you hear yourself? You're angry, I know, but I also know you, and you'd regret it.”

 

He shakes his head. “Mama, even if I'd regret it, you’re still perfectly entitled to a divorce, which is what anyone would expect from you.”

 

“I can't,” she insists, her voice cracking but her tone firm. “I mean, there's still you and your siblings, I can't just take him away from you.”

 

But there's something unsaid in the deep breath she takes after she speaks. “It's not just that, is it,” Philip murmurs. A statement, not a question. 

 

Eliza just looks at him, a deep sadness in her eyes, one that even he can't quite grasp. There's no anger in her gaze, and she gives him the weakest of smiles. 

 

“I still love him,” she says simply. 


	3. Chapter 3

The house is stifling, the air weighed down by unspoken words and laced with averted gazes. Philip leaves when he can, is always busy with anything away from home. Angie is the opposite, everywhere at once as long as everywhere is within the boundaries of the house. She is helping Mama with Will when Philip arrives home, she is mediating a fight between Jamie and John when he leaves again, and she is helping Xander with his homework when Philip returns. He feels bad; thinks maybe he should help more, but he can tell this is how Angie is coping and maybe she needs to be busy, and really he'd just make things worse. He can't stand being in the house, can't stand the tension just waiting to shatter. 

 

The roof has been furnished with blankets that Philip brought up, and the pile of pebbles in the corner has been severely depleted. He comes up here when he can't sleep, which happens more than not nowadays. And though there are barely any stones to toss at Theo’s window, he rarely has to use them—somehow she always knows when he's up here. She's here now, too, pulling herself over the edge of the roof and settling down cross-legged next to him. They don't speak, Philip draping a blanket over her shoulders before returning to watching the sunset. It's a comfortable silence, unlike the silence at home, the silence that descends when Alexander steps out of his study and into the kitchen and Eliza is still there, clearing the table. That silence is suffocating. It feels wrong, because Alex and Eliza have always looked at each other and smiled and murmured quiet greetings and laughed and blushed. And now they cannot look at each other, they cannot speak, they keep their angry eyes downcast and it is everything wrong. 

 

Theo is everything right, and Philip knows he can't just keep running and hiding and avoiding his family but she is always there, always present, it's like everything is okay and Philip just wants everything to feel that way again. 

 

“Would you forgive him?” Philip finally whispers into the night air. There are dark oceans glimmering with silver starlight in his eyes. 

 

“I don't know,” Theo admits softly, and Philip looks at her and sees his best friend watching him with a small sad smile playing at her lips, her dark eyes shadowed by waves of chocolate hair cascading down the side of her face. “I don't know if  _ I _ would forgive him, but I know  _ you _ would. You  _ will. _ ”

 

“You don’t know that,” he argues, and Theo shakes her head the second he begins to speak. 

 

“I know you, Pip,” she says. “I know you and you're a good person and you are going to forgive him, even if you don't realize it now. He's still your father and I know that he hasn't always been there. And you know I would know, you know my dad is the same way. My dad and your dad—they have more in common than they think. They may not be the best people but you  _ know  _ they'd do anything for their kids, and you  _ know  _ your dad loves you, and you  _ know  _ you love him. Your family loves him. He made a mistake that shouldn't be forgotten but you need to forgive him or you're never going to be happy.”

 

“But he  _ cheated!”  _ Philip protests. “Is forgiveness the right thing to do?”

 

“I'm not saying it's  _ right _ . I'm saying it's what you  _ need _ . Pip, you are everything good and right in this world and sometimes you just deserve to be happy, okay?”

 

He stares at her for the longest time, his eyes flickering across her face, trying to read what she's really thinking. And she looks back at him with that determined expression she always has when she's trying to convince him that she's right—she usually is—and he lets out a long sigh and pulls her into a hug and buries his face in her shoulder. She says he is everything good and right in this world, but in this moment, she is. Her arms are around him and her warm breath on his cheek and he wishes they could stay this way forever. 

 

“It'll be okay, I promise,” she breathes, and he believes her. 

 

It is quiet when he slips back into his and Angie’s room, the soft murmurs of his younger siblings drifting in from under the door to the adjacent room. The clinking of plates echoes up from downstairs; Angie must be helping their mother with the dishes. Philip grabs the book left face-down on his bed and starts to read it, though his eyes drift across the words rather than absorbing them. 

 

And there is a loud crash of someone dropping a pot, and Philip smiles to himself. Angie would be getting an earful from Mama any time now. But there is no outpouring of speech, as he'd expected. The air is filled with bated breath and Philip puts his book down slowly, moving towards the door and into the hallway. He makes it to the top of the stairs before someone speaks. 

 

“Sorry.”

 

It’s Alexander’s voice, low and tired and miserable. There is a pause, and then quick footsteps, and Angie appears at the bottom of the stairwell. She takes the stairs two at a time and sits down next to Philip. “He walked into the kitchen and almost ran into Mama and that's why she dropped the pot,” she hisses. “Oh come on, you're going to listen, aren't you?”

 

Philip nods and edges closer to the staircase, ignoring his sister’s eye roll and sitting down on the top step. He can hear Eliza; though she speaks softly, her words float up the steps. “Alexander.”

 

“Eliza, please. I can't—we can't live like this anymore. I still love you.”

 

“I do too.” Her voice cracks and Philip strains to hear. “I love you and I  _ don't want to _ . But I’m always going to love you, Alex. So will your children. I wish we were better than this, but we aren't.”

 

“What do you want me to do?” Alex asks, his voice impossibly small and fragile and sounding nothing like the father Philip knew. 

 

“Talk to them,” Eliza answers. “John doesn't know why we’re all acting like this. Jamie is scared to speak to you—to speak  _ of  _ you. Xander hates his name. Angie buries herself in work. And Philip...he’s—I don't know if he's okay. He leaves the house all the time and I'm worried about him but he's so,  _ so angry _ , and you need to fix things with them. Please.”

 

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, I can do that. But Eliza, what about us?” 

 

“Not now,” she insists. “They're  _ our _ kids and they need  _ both _ of us. We don't need each other.”

 

Her voice dies out and loses its conviction at the end of her sentence, and it sounds more like she's trying to convince herself of that. 

 

“I do need you,” Alex breathes out. He is broken and despairing and a shell of the man he had been. 

 

“You didn't need me when I went upstate,” Eliza counters, and Philip knows she's won the argument. “Not now, Alexander. Please.”

 

“I—okay,” he finally concedes. “For what it's worth, Eliza, I really am sorry.”

 

“I know.”

 

Angie grabs Philip’s hand and drags him to their room, closing the door behind them just as their mother reaches the top of the stairs. “I told you, you need to talk to him,” Angie tells him. 

 

“And you don't?” he argues. “You’re avoiding him too.” But she's right and he knows it. 

 

“You're the one who fought with him,” she says. He knows her argument, knows what she's thinking, knows his sister and all her infuriatingly right advice. He still chooses to ignore her, though. 

 

And he refuses to take her suggestion until the next day, when he finds himself awake earlier than usual. His siblings are all asleep, Angie curled in a ball under a pile of blankets in the bed next to him and no quiet chatter slipping in from under the door of his younger siblings’ room. He pads into the hallway on silent sock feet, sliding across the wooden floors and past the closed door of his parents’—his mother’s—room. 

 

His hand is on the doorknob before he stops and turns at the sound of shuffling papers that is so familiar and yet so foreign. His father had always been home, though hidden in his office. But at least he was there. Philip hadn't noticed when Alex had started disappearing from his office. He wonders if maybe Alexander had fallen out of love. 

 

He knows what he has to do, then. Philip peers hesitantly through the glass in the door to his father’s office, littered with even more papers than usual. He's struck by the disarray of the room, papers strewn about even messier than usual, a pillow and blanket in the corner, and mugs of coffee stacked precariously on the desk. He pauses and takes a breath before he taps his fist against the doorframe. 

 

Alexander lifts his gaze from the documents in front of him to regard Philip at the other side of the door. Philip thinks those might be tears in his father’s eyes when he motions for Philip to come in. 

 

“Philip,” he whispers shakily. “Hi.”

 

“H-hi,” Philip says, closing the door gently behind him. “I, um, I just wanted—I miss you, Papa.”

 

“Philip, you shouldn't be here,” Alex answers. He speaks in the same tone he spoke in when Philip was younger and had snuck into his father's office and made a mess. He is tired and worn and the exhaustion weighs down on his shoulders and under his eyes, just as he had been when Philip was six, except now there is no comforting hug for a distraught Philip standing over the fallen papers. Now he lifts those bright blue eyes always filled with life to look at his son, and they are filled with dull skies and dark clouds and rain. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Philip answers quietly. “I'm sorry for not listening. I'm sorry I was so angry. I don't hate you, Papa.”

 

“You had every right to be. You still do. I don't deserve any of you,” Alexander says softly, brokenly. “But I love you, I do, I promise.”

 

“I know.” Philip’s voice tumbles from his lips and settles heavily on the floor. He can't seem to find any more words. He is not like his father, in that sense and in many others. He does not want to be like his father. 

 

He wants to forgive him, he does. But he cannot force the words out. Alex is good at reading people, has always been, has needed to be to survive alone since losing his parents. He can feel that stare unraveling his thoughts, and he drops his gaze to his feet. Alex knows he knows he  _ knows:  _ Philip cannot forgive him, not now, and maybe Theodosia is wrong for once and he will never forgive him, and he cannot look up to see the look on his father’s face because it will break him and he knows it. 

 

“I should—I’m going to go.” Philip stumbles over his words and over his feet. When he closes the door and glances back, he meets Alex’s eyes. His stare is glassy with a certain fragility that Philip cannot shake. His father does not look away. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! thanks so much for reading this story, i am notoriously awful at finishing multi-chapter fics but i finally finished this! i know there wasn't much of a plot outside of the events in the musical, and especially in this chapter i take a lot of lines from it (disclaimer: any lyrics you recognize in here are lin's), but i really just wanted to write this to explore philip's point of view of the events that occur in approximately two songs. i hope i did him justice. also, there's a significant time skip from the last chapter to this chapter, i think it's like three years?? anyways, i'll stop rambling now.
> 
> enjoy!! :)

Philip bursts into the house, bag slung haphazardly across his shoulder, face flushed a bright red. There is an uncharacteristic scowl etched into his brow, which a rare enough occurrence that Eliza does not reprimand him for forgetting to take off his shoes. He can hear the set of lighter footsteps wordlessly following him to their room, an unspoken agreement resonating between them. The door shuts with a click and he sits heavily on his bed, leaning forward with hands clasped together. 

 

“That  _ asshole _ ,” Philip spits out, making eye contact with his sister, perched on her bed opposite him. “Who does he think he is?”

 

“Philip, you’re going to need to breathe,” Angie replies immediately, and she speaks smoothly as if she’s had this sentence waiting at the tip of her tongue. “You do realize we just left all our siblings at the parade because I had to drag you away, right? Why don’t you just—I don’t know, just try to calm down and I’ll go get them, okay?”

 

“Should’ve let me fight him then,” Philip mutters, glowering at the floor. “Would’ve been easier for all of us.”

 

“You can’t go fighting everyone who insults Father,” Angie snaps, standing up and walking to the door. “You have to take it. The rest of us have. You’re the only one who still insists on taking offense.”

 

“We can’t have him disparaging our name!” Philip argues, rising to his feet and crossing to where Angie stands. “Not any more than Papa already has. I’m trying to make it better!”

 

“The damage is done, Philip,” she insists, voice quiet and cold and for the first time in months, he sees that this still affects her, too. She hadn’t shown it, had always been able to hide her anger behind a smile, as she always has done. But Angie, now that he thinks about it, is the only one of the Hamilton siblings who has barely spoken a word to their father since the pamphlet, despite the fact that it had been four years ago and they no longer speak of it. She is furious. And he sees it for a second, flickering in the back of her gaze. It disappears just as quickly as he had caught a glimpse of it, but it is there. She knows he has seen it, and they look at each other with a hard resignation. This is the one thing they will not agree on, he knows. He will not stand for their name being remembered like this. She thinks this is what their name deserves. 

 

“Okay,” he whispers, and she nods and slips out of the room. He stands there unmoving, murmurs of an exchange between Angie and Eliza and Will’s giggles drifting down the hall. The front door opens and closes and through the window he sees Angie heading down the street and he does the only thing he can think of doing. He scrambles out the window and into the tree that awaited. Except this time, he does not climb further up the branches onto the roof where he knows he will find Theo. Instead he finds himself on the ground, climbing the fence to get to the street behind their house. 

 

“Hamilton!” a familiar yell comes from down the street, a figure jogging over to him. Philip raises a hand in greeting and claps him on the back. 

 

“Price,” Philip says, more subdued. “Seems you knew to look for me.”

 

Richie’s smile falls at that, and he nods, jerking his head back towards where the parade was. “Heard Eacker’s speech. Figured you’d need a drink. Come on. The rest are waiting.”

 

He’s sure the barkeep is confused as to why there’s a rowdy group of boys at drinking this early in the afternoon— _ it’s not even dark yet.  _ Philip thinks he heard the man mumble—but that’s the least of his concerns. Really he just appreciates that his friends were willing to be here with him. He suspects they wanted an excuse to drink, but they did seem concerned. Richie leans forward and holds up his flask, draping an arm around Philip’s shoulder and grinning at him. “We’ll show him, eh? We’ll find that Eacker and challenge him.”

 

“A duel!” William crows, and the boys erupt into cheers. Somewhere deep inside him, Philip knows it’s just the alcohol and he should really reconsider this. But he gives a lazy smile and raises his beer. 

 

“Why not,” he smirks, and taps his glass against his friends’ amid the roar of approval. “My father isn’t all there is to the Hamiltons. I’ll show him!”

 

He does not remember much after that. Not until there is a firm grip around his arm and he’s being led out of the pub, wolf whistles following him through the door. “Philip Hamilton you are an  _ idiot _ ,” a familiar voice hisses in his ear, and then there is someone else next to him grumbling about how his friends “need to stop flirting with me, really Philip, I am your sister—” 

 

“What are you doing,” Philip pronounces slowly, looking between Angie and Theo and then grabbing Theo’s hand to steady himself when the world starts spinning after turning his head too quickly. His sister lets out one of those insufferable sighs and Theo rolls her eyes and begins to tug him along the street.

 

“Bringing you home, Pip,” Theo replies. He blinks languidly at her, his gaze drifting over their interlocked hands and resting there for a second too long before making eye contact with her again. “You’re drunk,” she clarifies, eyes flickering across his face before turning away with an unreadable expression. 

 

“I’m not sure how you’re going to go about restoring our family’s name to glory with you looking like this,” Angie remarks candidly, and there’s a note in her voice that he can’t quite identify but he knows he should probably be taking offense to it. He raises his middle finger in her general direction and is rewarded by tripping over his feet. 

 

“Good luck,” he vaguely registers Theo telling them before disappearing, and he stumbles through the front door that Angie holds open for him, eyes drooping shut. The next time he opens them, he is greeted by bright sunlight and a pounding head and too-hot blankets piled on top of him.

 

“Good morning!” Angie chirps from her bed. He groans and rolls over and buries his head under his pillow. “Philip, this is completely your fault,” she tells him, a little too smugly.

 

“Shut up, Ange,” he whines. He really could care less about whatever superiority she’s getting out of this. Right now, the only thing he remembers from last night was promising to challenge Eacker to a duel. There is a cold fear lodged in his chest, the kind where dread claws at your throat and terror crawls up your spine and anxiety creeps into your stomach. He has not challenged him, not yet, he hopes, but he cannot back out of it. Not now. Not at the risk of his honor, which is what he’s dueling to keep. 

 

He barely catches the end of Angie’s sentence as she waltzes out of the room, presumably to call their siblings to breakfast if he’d interpreted the fragment of a sentence he’d heard correctly. He heads downstairs ahead of the stampede of smaller children that was sure to follow. “Hi, Mama,” he says cautiously, watching for her reaction. Eliza looks at him with that all-knowing half-smile he is too familiar with. 

 

“Philip,  _ really _ ,” she sighs, and he manages a sheepish smile. “You’re too much like your father.”

 

He lifts his chin proudly and grits his teeth at the resulting headache. “Am not,” he argues. He is proud, of course, of the legacy that he carries on his shoulders, but sometimes it feels as if that’s all anyone sees. He is his own man, too. Like his father, yes, but bolder. 

 

Eliza raises an eyebrow at him. “All the drinking lately? And the girls?” He flushes bright red at the last part and sputters out a protest. 

 

“I have a reputation to keep,” he finally manages to string together a coherent sentence, and Eliza shrugs her shoulders and hands him a cup of coffee. 

 

“You don’t need it,” she says softly, softly enough that he isn’t sure if she had spoken. He remains silent, his siblings’ arrival saving him from having to respond. John crashes into his side and throws his arms around him, grinning up at him with missing teeth. He winces at the pain that shoots through his temple accompanying the cacophony of his siblings, but manages a smile back at his brother. 

 

“Philip!” he exclaims. “Where were you last night?” Angie and Xander turn to look at him, and Jamie narrows his eyes at them before his eyes dart over to Philip and he makes the connection. 

 

“I was out with the boys,” he says delicately, with a sidelong glance at his mother. “We...we went out for dinner.” 

 

Angie raises an eyebrow at him and he looks away from his sister’s challenging gaze, focusing instead on his breakfast. “What are you doing today?” Eliza asks, and he looks up to see Angie still staring at him.

 

“Um...I don’t know,” Philip says hesitantly. “Probably check on Price, and we’ll see from there.”

 

“No  _ dinner _ with him,” Angie cuts in sharply. “Or with anyone. I think Theo might want to see you.”

 

“Okay,” he mumbles, getting up from the table and taking his cleared-off plate with him. “I’ll see you all later.”

 

For the second time in less than 24 hours, he climbs down his tree rather than up. What he does not know is that both of those times, Theo has seen him. He crosses the street, running a hand quickly through his hair and straightening out his coat. Richie is waiting for him at the corner just before Broadway, dropping a hand on his shoulder and flashing a grin. “Martha and Dolly are just over there,” he tells Philip, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Said girls are standing together a short distance away from them, stifled giggles bursting out from behind their hands. “How much do you bet they’ve seen Eacker?”

 

“Even if they haven’t, they’d do it for me,” Philip says confidently, and Richie snorts at that. He shoos Philip over to them. 

 

“Ladies, I’m lookin’ for a Mister George Eacker,” Philip says, approaching them and looking them up and down before letting a smirk creep onto his lips. They are head over heels for him, have been since he’d seen them at a ball and winked and twirled them around before disappearing back into the crowd. “Made a speech last week, our Fourth of July speaker,” he clarifies, and they nod eagerly. “He disparaged my father’s legacy in front of a crowd, I can’t have that. I’m making my father proud!” 

 

Dolly bats her eyes up at him. “How brave,” she says breathily, and he musters up a smile. His eyes sweep across her face before drifting away to some faraway point. He is not quite there with them in this moment. They don’t seem to notice, though. Martha elbows her in the side and takes Philip’s hand in hers. 

 

“I saw him just up Broadway a couple of blocks. He was goin’ to see a play,” she says, nodding up the street behind her. 

 

“Well, I’ll go visit his box,” Philip answers. He is not entirely sure what is going to happen when he gets there. But he has to do this; has promised Richie and William and now Martha and Dolly and he swears to himself that he will get this job done. It is worth it, it has to be. And if this is his legacy, then so be it. He is proud of his name. That is one thing he is certain of, at least.

 

“God, you’re a fox,” Dolly giggles, and Philip tosses her an easy sideways grin and slings an arm around Martha.  _ This _ is what he likes about his reputation, this is what he is so desperate to protect. Popularity isn’t everything, Eliza likes to admonish him, but personally he thinks that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He needs this, needs this reassurance that he will be remembered. What use is a life lived that fades away? She’s wrong. This is everything.

 

“Well, y’all look pretty good in your frocks,” Philip muses, dropping his head to whisper loudly into Martha’s ear and shooting a sidewards glance at Dolly. “How ‘bout when I get back we all strip down to our socks?”

 

It’s that moment that Richie decides to drag Philip away. Philip mumbles a not-too-smooth  _ fuck you, Price _ and he can hear the stifled laughter from the girls. He is reassured, though, by the smitten look on both of their faces when he looks back to wink at them one last time before Richie pulls them too far down the sidewalk. “You’re here to challenge Eacker to a duel, Philip, not to flirt with those two. Besides, don’t you have Theo Burr?”

 

He starts at that. Of course, him and Theo had gotten questions before, easily deflected by mentioning the rivalry between their fathers. Richie had always been rather oblivious, though. That was saying something if even he noticed something. “Shut up,” Philip manages weakly. Richie raises an eyebrow, but to his credit he does not say anything. Truthfully, Philip isn’t quite sure what they are. And if they’ve stolen kisses on his rooftop on particularly hard nights, well, he can blame it on delirious exhaustion and, in the more recent years, stolen alcohol.

 

He slips into the theater with that new thought added to the already vast whirlwind in his mind. It spins and cartwheels and knocks around his already settled confidence. Theo would tell him not to do this. So would Angie. But he forces that down and buries it in other thoughts when Richie elbows him. He follows Richie’s gaze to see Eacker in his box. “George! George!” he yells, and then the rest of their conversation happens in a blur. There is adrenaline racing through his veins and he glares up at the other man and somewhere in the back of his mind, the same somewhere where thoughts of Theo lurked and the same somewhere that had started to regret this decision back in the bar, that somewhere thought that perhaps this would end badly. Of course, he ignores it as usual.

 

It is not until he races home and almost collides into Alexander that he lets himself think about it.  _ How ironic _ , he wants to laugh,  _ that killing is dishonorable until you use it to prove your honor. _

 

“Philip,” his father says, hand resting on his shoulder, “what’s going on?”

 

The explanation tumbles from his lips in a rush of words, and in his father’s face he can see the exact moment they crash down. The complete determination in his eyes is a look Philip has never seen before. When he catches a glimpse of his reflection, distorted by the curve of the gun, he is shocked to see the same expression mirrored in himself. 

 

“Come back home when you’re done,” Alex is saying, and Philip pushes away the thought that he may not be able to. “Take my guns. Be smart. Make me proud, son.”

 

He leaves the house the next morning almost in a daze, showing the guns to Richie who stares at them with—longing, he thinks that is. Richie had dueled him the night before, with no injury. He thought Richie would be happy about it but instead he looks as if he is even more willing to fight. Philip forces himself to smile. “Got my pa’s approval. Even he said everything is legal in New Jersey.”

 

“Well then, we’re all good to go, aren’t we?” Richie says, grinning at Philip. His teeth gleam in the low light, and it occurs to Philip that he shares an uncanny resemblance with a predator, the same hunger as a lion, perhaps. Was this how he was supposed to feel? Because he didn’t. He takes a deep breath and nods and follows Richie down the street, hoping the fog obscured the words he mouths to himself to calm himself down. 

 

A poem from days long gone, written years ago before all of this happened. Practiced in front of a mirror with his sister and his brothers watching, recited to Theo on their rooftop, stammered out to his father with his mother watching proudly. This is what he always uses, a reminder of when things were happy and simple.  _ My name is Philip, I am a poet…  _

 

“I’m a little nervous but I can’t show it,” he murmurs, and before he can continue a small warm hand grips his arm and drags him into an alley. 

 

“Sorry, Price, I need to borrow him for a second. Wait up ahead, please,” a familiar voice, high but strong, rings out. Richie yells an  _ okay, Theo _ back at them and thankfully gives them the privacy of the alley. It’s probably not the time, but Theo’s face damp with early morning mist, cheeks flushed dark pink and painted by the sunrise, dark brown eyes glimmering with golden specks and anger—it is a sight he wants engraved into his memory. He closes his eyes for a second; sears it into his mind so that later, though he doesn’t know it yet, he will have something to hold on to. 

 

He opens his eyes and only finds an even angrier glare than he thought possible. So much for that image. “I’m sorry, I’m a Hamilton with pride,” she hisses mockingly. “You talk about my father I cannot let it slide!”

 

“Theo it’s not like that—“

 

“It is  _ absolutely  _ like that and you know it,” she says fiercely. She’s crying. She never cries. 

 

“Hey. It’ll be fine,” he whispers into her ear, pulling her into his arms. She resists and pushes him away, something she has never done. He stares at her and he thinks his mouth is hanging open a little bit that doesn’t matter right now because she just—

 

“Did you even say goodbye?” she demands scathingly. He has never seen this much anger from her; did not think she could hold so much within her. “Your mother, Angie, all your other siblings? Philip it’s a  _ duel, _ you realize what you’re putting at risk don’t you?”

 

“I have to,” he replies, taking a step back. Two can play at this game, and she’s not on his side this time. He didn’t think he could speak this coldly to her, but here they are. “You wouldn’t understand. I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

 

He swallows the lump in his throat and turns around decisively, catching up with Richie wordlessly. He refuses to look back. 

 

The box holding his father’s guns lies open on his lap. They sit silently as they row across the river, the morning mist hazy over the New Jersey shoreline, and Philip finds that he is shaking. He tells himself that rowing has tired him out but then his knees start knocking together. Rowing doesn’t affect that. “Pri—Richie?”

 

“Yeah, Phil?” Richie’s voice is soft and doesn’t hold any of the bravado it usually does around the other boys. “Look, I know Theo was worried, but I’m fine aren’t I?”

 

Philip smiles gratefully and stops rowing for a second to pull Richie into an uncharacteristic hug. Richie laughs and claps him on the back and it is such a familiar and comforting thing that Philip feels the tension in his shoulders melt away. “C’mon, Hamilton, keep rowing. Can’t be late.”

 

“Yeah,” Philip says, finally closing the box on the guns and putting it to the side. “Thanks, Price.” 

 

They are welcomed to Weehawken with an unnatural quiet hanging in the air. The gravel crunches loudly under Philip’s feet and Eacker and his second turn and spot them long before they arrive at the dueling grounds. “Mister Eacker!” Philip calls, willing his voice not to crack. “How was the rest of your show?”

 

Eacker shakes his head and stalks over to meet Philip, nodding his head sharply towards the box Philip held in his hands. “I’d rather skip the pleasantries, let’s go. Grab your pistol.”

 

Philip opens the box and holds it out for Eacker, who plucks out a gun distastefully and walks back to join his second. Philip hands the box to Richie, who grins at him and whispers a  _ good luck _ . He manages a shaky smile in return and sucks in a deep breath. “Confer with your men. The duel will commence after we count to ten.”

 

Every voice in his head is screaming a warning that this is not how his father promised it would go. For a second, he doubts that throwing away his shot would happen the way Alexander said it would. But he shakes his head as if that will dislodge the fear that has been building, setting his jaw and steeling himself— _ look him in the eye, aim no higher— _ looking straight into Eacker’s eyes before turning and counting out his steps. 

 

_ Summon all the courage you require— _

 

He lifts his arm deliberately— _ then slowly and clearly aim your gun towards the sky— _

 

He counts his breaths, sharp and fast.  _ One two three four _ —

 

wrong it’s all wrong this isn’t—

 

_ five six seven— _

 

_ Philip are you okay  _ I’m fine I’m fine  _ call a doctor damn it Eacker  _ just row me across  _ are you insane  _ Richie please—

 

_ Is he alive? _

 

Count your breaths. One two three four five six seven—

 

_ Philip.  _

 

I did exactly as you said Pa  _ I know I know shh— _

 

“No!”

 

Mom I’m so sorry— _ shh— _ for forgetting what you taught me— _ I know I know.  _

 

_ We don’t need a legacy…  _

 

One two three four  _ un deux trois quatre— _ “We played piano.”

 

A broken laugh. Warm hands on his. It is cold. So, so cold. 

 

_ Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf _ .  _ Good. Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept— _

 

Un deux trois…

 

_ five six seven— _

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments always appreciated :)


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